Emi sat stiffly in the passenger seat of Ren's car, her fingers curled into the fabric of her skirt, gripping tightly as if holding onto the last shred of stability she had left. Her gaze remained unfocused, locked onto the blur of city lights flashing past the window, but she wasn't really seeing them.
She was numb. Everything had unraveled so fast.
One moment, she had resigned herself to a fate she hadn't chosen—to a future she didn't want—marrying a stranger, sacrificing her freedom just to erase a debt that wasn't even hers. She had spent the whole last night convincing herself that this was her only option. That there was no way out. That she could endure it, that she could accept it, even if it made her stomach churn every time she thought about it.
And then—
Ren Kazama had erased it all in a single night.
Torn up the contract. Burned every piece of it to the ground.
And now, she was here. Sitting in his car and being taken by him.
Her throat tightened, pressure building in her chest like a weight she couldn't shake. This wasn't how things were supposed to turn out. She had braced herself to endure it all—to swallow her pride, to live a life she hated just to clean up her father's mess.
She glanced at Ren beside her. His hands were steady on the wheel, his face unreadable, calm in a way that only made her feel more unsteady—like she was slipping into something far beyond her control.
"You're too quiet."
His voice cut through the silence, low, edged with something she couldn't quite place.
Emi swallowed hard. "I have nothing to say."
A sharp exhale. "Try harder."
Frustration bubbled up in her chest, sharp and unsteady. She turned to him, the weight of everything crashing down on her all at once. "What do you want me to say, Ren? That I'm grateful? That I owe you again?"
His grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles turning white for a fraction of a second. "I don't care about your damn gratitude, Fujimoto."
Her nails dug into her palms. "Then why did you do it?"
Silence.
For a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer. That he would leave her to drown in her own confusion, in the tangled mess of emotions she didn't know how to untangle.
Then—
His voice dropped lower, quieter.
"Because you shouldn't have to suffer for someone else's mistakes."
She stilled.
That wasn't something Ren Kazama would say. Or at least, not the Ren she thought she knew.
She turned away, staring at the passing buildings, at the reflections in the glass, at anything other than him. The weight in her chest grew heavier.
"I never asked for your help," she whispered, hating how unsteady her voice sounded.
"I don't give a damn," Ren muttered.
The car rolled to a slow, deliberate stop, and Emi's breath caught in her throat as she realized where they were. Her fingers clenched against her lap, her heart pounding as she looked up at the house in front of them.
Large. Modern. Intimidating. It wasn't Kazama Estate.
Ren didn't say anything as he cut the engine. He simply stepped out of the car, moving with the same effortless confidence he always carried, like he owned every space he stepped into. The door on her side opened before she could react, and she looked up to find him staring down at her, his expression unreadable.
"Get out."
It wasn't a request.
Emi hesitated, her fingers clenching around the seatbelt. "Ren—"
He let out a slow breath, his patience wearing thin. "You can argue with me all you want after you're inside."
She hated that she had no good response to that.
Slowly, reluctantly, she unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped out of the car, the night air hitting her skin like a shock. Ren had already moved to the trunk, pulling out her suitcase. Ren carried it with ease, as if the weight of it was nothing. He didn't look at her as he walked toward the house, expecting her to follow.
She should have argued but she didn't. Because deep down, a small, tired, fractured part of her knew that she had nowhere else to go.
The moment they stepped inside, Emi froze just past the entrance, her eyes widening slightly as she took in her surroundings.
"This is… your house?" she asked, her voice quieter than usual.
Ren kicked off his shoes and set her luggage near the stairs, glancing at her from over his shoulder. "What did you expect?"
She shifted, looking around the space. It was too large for one person. Expensive, elegant—sleek black furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the night sky, soft lighting that cast shadows against the dark wood floors. It was beautiful in a cold, distant kind of way. Like a place meant to be lived in, but never truly lived in.
"You don't live with your grandmother?" she asked after a moment.
"I do stay at the family estate. This is just another place I keep for myself." Ren replied simply.
Emi's lips pressed together, her fingers curling against her arms. She stood there like she didn't quite belong. Like she wasn't sure if she was allowed to be here at all.
Ren frowned.
"Go shower. Change. You look like hell."
Her head snapped up, eyes narrowing instantly. "Excuse me?"
Ren smirked. "You're pale. Exhausted. And if you're planning to argue with me again, at least do it after you don't look like you've just walked through hell."
Her lips parted, like she wanted to snap at him, but no words came out.
Instead, she grabbed her bag without another word and disappeared toward the guest room, the door shutting firmly behind her.
Ren exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
This woman… She didn't get it. She didn't understand that this wasn't about a debt. She could repay him a thousand times over, and he still wouldn't let her go. Because this time, Ren Kazama had made a choice.
And she was his to protect.
*****
The warm water did little to calm the storm inside her. It didn't comfort or clear her thoughts—just pressed against her skin with heat, as if that could wash away the confusion weighing her down. Emi stood under the stream, hands flat on the cool tiles, her forehead resting against the wall as she tried to make sense of it all.
After washing up, Emi turned off the water and grabbed a towel, wrapping it tightly around herself like it could protect her from everything pressing in on her. Steam filled the room, heavy in the air. When she caught her reflection in the foggy mirror, she barely recognized herself—flushed cheeks, shaky breath, and a heart still racing. It wasn't just from the heat. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, then stepped out of the bathroom into the guest room.
Ren was standing right there.
Tall. Broad. Dressed in a black t-shirt and sweatpants that clung to his lean frame, his dark hair still damp from a shower. He smelled fresh—soap mixed with something smoky, something unmistakably him. It hit her all at once, heightening everything she was already feeling. And worse—his sharp gaze swept over her, from her wet hair down to the towel wrapped tightly around her body.
Emi froze, her breath stalling as she realized she was still wrapped in nothing but a towel.
A single drop of water slid down her collarbone, tracing a slow path along her skin before disappearing beneath the fabric—
And Ren saw it.
Something in his expression changed—subtle, but clear. Something darker flickered in his eyes before settling into a heavier, more intense look. He didn't move, but the air around them shifted, thick and tense. Emi's throat went dry. She clutched the towel tighter and stepped back. "I—I thought you were downstairs!"
Ren didn't move and he didn't even blink. His eyes held hers, unwavering, sharp, intense in a way that made her feel exposed even though she was covered.
"I was," he said, his voice lower than usual, rough around the edges, like he had just woken up or like he was thinking about something he shouldn't be.
She needed to move. To say or do something. But before she could, Ren took a step forward instead.
Slow and deliberate
"Ren—"
Her voice was barely out when his fingers reached for her, light and warm as they brushed her damp shoulder
Emi's stomach clenched. She should have stepped back but she didn't.
Ren's fingers lingered, his touch lighting a slow burn across her skin, the warmth spreading fast, stealing her breath and leaving it short and shaky.
"You're warm," he murmured, his gaze sweeping over her flushed face. His tone was calm, but something in his eyes said he felt it too.
"I—I just got out of the shower," she said, breathless, hating how shaky her voice sounded, how her racing heart gave everything away.
His lips twitched, just slightly. A hint of a smirk, quiet and knowing. "I can see that."
Heat rushed through her, every nerve suddenly on edge, her instincts screaming warnings she couldn't bring herself to follow.
This was dangerous.
She swallowed hard. "Ren, I need to get dressed."
His jaw tensed, a muscle flickering in his cheek. His body went still, sharp with restraint.
The silence between them stretched—thick, charged, almost unbearable.
Then, finally, he stepped back. Not far. Just enough for her to breathe.
"Get dressed," he said, his voice low, rough, laced with something she didn't dare name. "Before I change my mind."
Her breath caught, his words landing like a spark in her chest—unspoken meaning humming between them.
She didn't wait. Turning quickly, she crossed to the bed, grabbing the clothes she'd left behind. Her hands fumbled as she pulled them into her arms, her fingers shaking more than she wanted to admit.
*****
Ren exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as he stepped into the quiet hallway, jaw tight. The silence should've helped him calm down, helped him steady himself.
But it didn't.
His pulse was still racing, pounding hard in his chest like an alarm he couldn't shut off.
And that pissed him off.
He wasn't supposed to feel like this. He was always in control—always the one calling the shots, deciding what touched him and what didn't. He'd built walls, mastered restraint.
And now?
That moment—her skin under his fingertips, her wide eyes, flushed face, damp hair clinging to her cheeks—was stuck in his mind like a match refusing to burn out.
What made it worse was that she probably didn't even realize and didn't know what she was doing to him. She didn't know that her just standing there—wrapped in a towel, lips parting like she might say something—had nearly undone him.
He braced a hand on the railing, gripping it tight. He needed to get a grip. To remember why she was here.
He'd brought her to protect her. Not to think about touching her. Not to imagine her lips. Not to wonder what would've happened if he hadn't pulled away.
He inhaled deeply, trying to shake the thoughts off.
She was safe now. That's all that should matter.